Flashback; Japan (Trine)

The beauty of the Japanese country side was not lost on her. The vivid colors were a very stark contrast to the neutral hues of the desert sands in Egypt and with her vastly acute vision, they were even richer, bolder. It nearly made her weep. Nearly. She crouched down, washing the dried blood from beneath her sharp nails in the babbling stream than ran beneath a small wooden bridge. It took a bit of scraping on her part to remove the reddish brown stains, but if there was one thing she had learned over the last 4,000 years, it was patience. Though the sun shone brightly in the mid day sky, it did not burn her skin as it had in the first few centuries of her existence. She still wore a thick cloak of black that trailed down to the ground behind her and the hood was perpetually pulled up, shrouding her features in the thick shadows. Her snow white skin and glowing red eyes tended to frighten the natives. On more than one occasion, she had to slaughter an entire village for the simple sake of staying alive and silencing their curses to the female "oni". Her full lips pulled back from her straight, pearl white teeth in a mock snarl. She was no demon. She was gifted, granted unspeakable power and abilities by the god Anubis. She was far superior to these mere..mortals.

The woman dried her hands on the edges of her cloak, satisfied that most of the blood had been scraped out from beneath her nails. She could still smell it, but it was passable for the time being. It didn't gnaw at her hunger. At the small of her back, beneath the cloak, she kept an ornate dagger from her homeland. It was the last piece of her former life, the only piece she allowed herself. She moved silently across the bridge, ignoring the stares and whispers in Japanese as she passed by. She kept her head tilted down faintly to make it appear as if she was staring at the ground when she walked, but her eerie red gaze was pinned on everything around her, sweeping over every detail and comitting it to memory. A subtle tilt of her head revealed the shadow of someone mirroring her path on the opposite side of the road. From the size of the shadow, she gauged it to be a man, roughly close to six feet. For the time being, she allowed him to follow as she entered the tea house. The sign above the open door way of the tea house itself named it as the Red Leaf.

The mysterious woman entered, paying careful attention to her surroundings. She slipped quietly into a table in the corner, keeping her hood up even as an older woman came to take her request.

"Green tea." Was all the woman requested, the fluent Japanese that passed her lips was spoken perfectly and in a voice that held some foreign accent. The voice itself was methodical, breathy, and alluring. Almost as if those very wouds could reach out and caress your skin. It caught the attention of several men who sat around a large table, staring in her direction in hopes of getting a glimpse of the face the voice belonged to. Many of them had swords strapped to their waists, pegging them for either samuari or the lordless ronin. She had heard much of them in her travels among this land and found both sects honorable. But the looks in these mens eyes were the only tell-tale give a way that they weren't the honorable sort. She could smell the blood and death on them. Days old perhaps, but it still clung to them like the dirt clung to their skin. The dark taint staining the edge of their auras was another sign that these men were killers and had no qualms over who met the edge of their blades.

Her tea was served, but she dismissed the elderly woman before she could pour it for her. With precise and graceful movements, she served herself, taking her time to pour the steaming liquid into the handless mug.

"Will it be your blood I add to my tea, I wonder, or will it be the blood of your friends." She stated almost casually towards the small group of men who took their opportunity to make their way towards her shadowed table in the corner. The one who stood a pace or two ahead of the rest was the one she had addressed and he seemed to almost hesitate for a slit second. "If you value your lives, I would not move any closer to this table." There was a flash of vivid red under the hood of the cloak, but it only lasted for a slit second before the darkness shrouded her face once more.

"Who are you to threaten us?" The leader of the group questioned, his words clipped and almost angry. "We are the White Dragons."

"Ah, yes, the so called gang of thugs that rob from the vulnerable farmers and rape their women. Such bad men." She taunted, a pale white hand snaking out to bring the mug up to her lips. "I fear the lot of you would cower beneath a real threat. You think yourselves monsters, lawless men. You know nothing of what it means to be a monster. I suggest you step away from this table before I show you one." She took a tentative sip of the tea. "I do not fear the White Dragons, nor any man."

"Foolish woman. I would have your head." The leader reached for his sword, but she was out of her chair before his fingers could brush it's hilt. Her finger gripped his throat, sharp nails digging into the flesh surrounding his windpipe and cutting off his air. With a swift yank of her hand, she ripped his throat out. Blood poured over her hand and down her arm, staining the snow white flesh crimson. When she had moved, the hood of her cloak had been shoved back. Jet black hair fell down her back and nearly to the dip of her waist. áThe snow white skin was flawless, perfect and looked achingly soft. Her lips were full and just as black as her hair, but it was her eyes that were the most startling. They glowed and inhuman shade of red, glittering with eerie light. This woman was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, an enthralling dark beauty even though she was now painted in gore.